


A Dozen Things at Once

by tatertatra



Series: We Could Pretend [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Dishonored 2, Drabble Collection, F/M, Post-Dishonored 2, emsider, ft period drama hand kisses, morley and gristol are on the fritz, much like emily and wyman, the outsider urges emily to make an impossible choice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9455450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatertatra/pseuds/tatertatra
Summary: He dropped the medal and stared at her. The corners of his black eyes wrinkled. “With all due respect, dear Empress, it’s much easier to sneak past witches, for whom you have no compassion, than to watch a thousand of your own citizens die violent deaths.”“Are you condemning me for what I’ve done?”He shrugged. “No condemnation. Just observations.”





	

The Imperial Navy made a graveyard of the water between Gristol and Morley. Emily counted twenty sinking rebel ships before she forced herself to stop. Hulls of iron, blown apart and smoldering, reached up beyond the waves like the ribcages of some Pandyssian beast. The sun had set hours ago, but she could still see the fires on the water.

She could see the pyres along the beach too.

Emily dropped the opening of her tent with a sigh and tried to rub the spots from her eyes. Each glowing spark in her vision was marked with tragedy; ships filled with people who had friends and family, people that just wanted to make their lives better. She dropped her hands from her eyes and turned to face the inside of her temporary home.

Her tent was made of dark blue canvas, big enough to hold far more furniture than she thought necessary. The couches were still in pristine condition, completely untouched and packed stiff with the old, settled feathers. The only part that looked lived-in was her desk and bed. 

Her feet ached as she crossed the oversized space to her desk, pulling at the single drawer for pen and paper. An unfinished letter stared up at her from the desktop. 

_ Wyman _ .

The night before, she’d tried writing to them. She’d tried putting down the words she needed to say in case anything happened in the battle. . . but she’d been unsuccessful. Emily found her words for Wyman too often reflected her feelings. Too rushed, too confused, at odds with each other. 

Wyman had a revolutionary’s heart, made of fire and powerful words that burned into the mind. They belonged in Morley with the countrymen they loved, not in Gristol. Not with the Empress that made a mess of her people.

Emily thought of writing to Corvo in Dunwall, but what could she possibly say?

_ Dear father,  _

_ My feet hurt but a thousand Morley soldiers burn in funeral pyres as I sleep. Last night I tried writing to Wyman to tell them I still love them, but we both know how I am with words. Overall, today was a huge success. I think mother would be proud. _

A noise of disgust left her mouth as she slammed the drawer closed again.

“The beloved Empress’ first battle, we should celebrate.”

Emily jumped. She whirled around to find the Outsider leaning against the center post, arms crossed and smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. 

He certainly didn’t help her feelings.

“I should’ve known you’d show up.”

“My only wish is to serve Your Majesty.” He grinned and bowed for emphasis.

She slumped her shoulders and rested against her desk. “I’ve had about as much servitude as I can handle for the day.” 

The Outsider pushed off from the post and sauntered towards her. The Void hung around him like smog, black and dense. “It must be so exhausting to watch ships go to war for you.”

She scowled. “Not nearly as exhausting as talking to a judgmental god.” 

He stopped before her, tugging at one of the medals pinned to her chest. Did it make her feel better or worse that she’d earned it? Her battle strategies had helped secure the waters around Gristol. Her face burned.

“First battle?” she quipped, quick to change the subject. “Does fighting your way through a witch-infested city not count then?”

He dropped the medal and stared at her. The corners of his black eyes wrinkled. “With all due respect, dear Empress, it’s much easier to sneak past witches, for whom you have no compassion, than to watch a thousand of your own citizens die violent deaths.” 

“Are you condemning me for what I’ve done?”

He shrugged. “No condemnation. Just observations.”

She squinted. “Your observations feel a little weighted.”

Cocking his head to the side, he ignored her. She reminded him of her father like this, locked with an unwavering, scrutinous gaze. Very few people had ever laid eyes on him, and even fewer had been brave enough to stare. He supposed it must’ve been something in their blood. 

“War is nothing new to me,” he said. “I’ve seen thousands of battles fought over the Isles and all other distant lands. I’ve seen hundreds of Empresses too, and they all face the same dilemma. Even your mother.”

The remark made her chest throb. She blinked. “How well did you know my mother?”

The moment it took for him to respond was heavy, like she could feel him sifting through millions of moments in time to find one. He took a deep breath. “I never visited her, if that’s what you’re asking. But I watched her, like I watch everyone of relative significance.”

Emily felt the air thicken around them. She doubted they were truly speaking of politics, but she let him continue. Her hand sought the cuff of his jacket like a child.

“She was kinder than most, I suppose. A good mother with a good heart and all the best intentions in the world, but there is such a thing as too-kind.” He leaned in closer. “I know it would be in our best interest not to care about each other, but I tell you this because I do  _ care _ .” 

She frowned but said nothing.

“Hearts are fickle things, Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin, first of her name. Very rarely do they know how to discern between love and duty.”

He disappeared in his familiar cloud of mist and stepped out of the air on the other side of her desk. His fingers drummed across the top of the wood. 

She turned to see him staring at the letter. There were no secrets from the Outsider, but she still wished she’d thrown it into the fire when she had the chance. He ran his hand over it, centering it like it was some piece of art askew on a wall.

“Are you saying I’m letting love get in the way of duty?”

His eyes slid up from the letter to meet hers. “Love for disloyal citizens. Love for Wyman.” He stopped, as if he were waiting for something.

She fought the urge to sigh and slid the letter out from under his fingertips. Her own messy handwriting ran in crooked, hurried lines across the page. Emily’s heart gave light thump against her ribs. “Love for you?”

Something strange passed across his face. A sad, almost-smile. He straightened. “I shouldn’t tell you this--”

Three years had passed since Delilah’s coup, since he’d pulled Emily into the Void and marked her. Three years they’d danced around the line of simple heresy and something darker, unholy. Emily was just the first to say it.

A forced laugh slid out of Emily’s throat. “There’s lots of things you probably shouldn’t tell me. Why stop now?” She followed him with her eyes as he walked around the desk.

“They think about you often,” he said.

She sucked in a breath. It wasn’t surprising, but she preferred ignorance. She preferred only knowing of her own tumbling mind, falling through endless  _ what-ifs _ .

His palm slid too-big and unnaturally pale against the black lacquer of her desk. He was far away again, recalling a distant place. “They wish they didn’t but it plagues their dreams like rats in a gutter, crawling and feasting and multiplying by the day. If things were different, the two of you would be together in Dunwall now.”

Her arms crossed over her chest. She did her best to push away the ache that settled into her bones. “Why tell me this if you want me to choose duty?”

He was close again. His cold fingers found her chin and lifted it up until he was staring at her lips. “I want you to know the truth before you choose anything. And what you choose makes no difference to me.” 

She forced her chin down but his hand remained in place. “Of course it does.” Her voice was a strained whisper, caught somewhere between sadness and frustration. “You can’t tell me we care for each other and then act like what I choose doesn’t matter. What if I choose duty? What if I choose Wyman?”

There was an immeasurable, bittersweet look on his face. He dropped her chin and took her hand, bringing it to his mouth. “Empresses must make choices.” His lips are soft as they pressed against her knuckles. “And I have time. If I have anything, it is a near infinite amount of time.”

“But I don’t,” she whispered. Her hand slipped from his, leaving the phantom sensation of his lips against her skin. 

Slow seconds passed as he watched her, face masked with careful indifference. She thought about reaching out and grabbing him, shaking him until he gave her an honest, straightforward answer. 

He dipped his head in a halfhearted bow. “You know where to find me, Empress.”

He vanished, leaving behind nothing but the scent of hot iron and a stinging mark on Emily’s hand.

_ Of course _ . Of course he’d show up just to wreak havoc, instill a little more chaos into her life. That’s what he did. As if she needed any help. 

She stood in silence, staring at a low-burning lantern that hung on one of the tent posts. Her teeth ground together and her throat swelled. The letter, balled up on the floor where his feet had been, caught her eye. 

Emily Kaldwin in that moment was a dozen things at once: a heretic, an Empress of the Isles, a daughter, someone once engaged to a Morley noble. All of which required something different of her. 

She reached down and plucked the letter from the ground. The weight of it sank into her palms. 

“All Empresses must make choices,” she repeated to no one. 

**Author's Note:**

> Aha! Another Emsider fic! This one was a lot tougher than the first, but shoutout to Alex and Leslie for being my betas, and then Leslie again for prompting me with post-battle hand kisses. Active war is something we don't get to really see in-game but I tried my best. Enjoy~♥  
> Feel free to send me more prompts and requests over on my tumblr (jynersvs)


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